Rhymes with Gleaming
by The Green Chick
Summary: William reflects on his last mortal evening. Mild slash.


Later, he would remember almost nothing of what happened after the party. Somehow, he must have made his way outside, although he only knew it because he found himself there now.  
  
The river. That's the best thing to do after all this. I'll be miles downstream before they find the body.  
  
It was only as he stumbled from the courtyard toward the street to find a cab that he realized that he was still clinging to that ridiculous sheaf of papers. He could no longer remember what it was about Tristan that had ever deserved his poetry.  
  
Get rid of all this. No point to it anymore.  
  
As he sat tearing the papers into ever-finer pieces, he heard a voice: "And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?" He looked up at the girl who stood in front of him now. The palest little thing he'd ever seen, he could almost see straight through her if it weren't for her impossibly deep blue eyes.  
  
You could drown yourself in those eyes as surely as in the Thames.  
  
***  
  
"Why won't you come to dinner, William?"  
  
"I really can't. I'm not even invited."  
  
"Don't be an ass -- just come along with me. You know, it pains me that you can be so... conventional."  
  
William's face burned. "I won't go where I'm not wanted."  
  
Tristan moved toward him and his voice dropped into the low register he always used at these times. "I'm sorry, Will. Damned thoughtless of me to say that." William didn't say anything. He tried to concentrate on not letting that smooth voice hypnotize him yet again. "Will, please...." William knew when Tris reached for his shoulder that his friend could feel him trembling. There was no point in trying to hide it when he stammered and shook at the least provocation.  
  
And now to his horror he was actually fighting tears as Tris ran a hand through his hair, kissed him softly, and pulled him back toward the bed.  
  
"Now. Will you come with me?"  
  
"I- I can't. I don't even have time to go home and dress for dinner."  
  
"Don't worry, love. They're my friends. They couldn't possibly mind about a  
  
thing like that."  
  
***  
  
In the cab on the way to the dinner party, Tristan kissed him once again. William's heart pounded at the thought that they were in such a - well, it wasn't quite exactly a public place - and yet there was something so daring about it. If only it could be as real as it felt.  
  
"What are you fretting about this time, William?"  
  
He shook his head as if that could drive away his impossible vision. "Mother wants me to marry Cecily."  
  
Tris laughed. "You're hardly the marrying sort, you know. I had you pegged for a lifelong bachelor." William was sure he could see a sneer cross Tristan's face as he said "bachelor".  
  
"You don't understand, Tris. You see, I- I love you. I don't want to lose this."  
  
There was no response.  
  
At the party, everyone stared at his awful tweeds. Tris, being Tris, swept into the room as if he knew he could do no wrong. William could see annoyance in the eyes of the footman who met them at the door, and something closer to contempt on the faces of the other guests.  
  
Tristan was already in the thick of the party as they walked into the parlor. As he caught the eye of a group of his friends, William whispered to him "I should go. Nobody wants me here but you."  
  
Tris turned to him impatiently. "You might want to consider the possibility that your mother was right."  
  
Tristan went to join the others, and William found himself standing alone.  
  
***  
  
The strange girl in the alley said something about his strength and his vision, which he rather liked. Then again, she also said something about burning baby fish swimming around his head.  
  
Falling headlong into her eyes, he was hypnotized.  
  
Her offer of - what was it that she had offered? Already he could no longer recall. Whatever it was, she had offered, and for some mad reason he had agreed.  
  
She was forward, leaning in for a kiss like she did. Apparently he'd misjudged her. She held his gaze without turning away or looking down in the modest way one expected of girls. Yes, she must be a whore. And yet, she was also the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. That she had turned out to be just another east-end gay girl was of little consequence now.  
  
He surrendered to a kiss. Her mouth, like her talk, seemed cool, dry, ethereal; if she were any other woman he'd have said she lacked passion, but that couldn't be right - not with the way she held him entranced. And her cool mouth grew warmer, hot even, as it met the urgency of his.  
  
As she bent forward to kiss his neck, he saw the briefest flash of gold in her eyes.  
  
***  
  
William had sulked by himself long enough. More to the point, he had found his way to the library, and a writing desk. If he couldn't speak his wishes out loud, he could still write them. If only he could find the right rhyme. Seeming? Dreaming? Redeeming? Oh, never mind.  
  
He made his way back into the parlor. After all, it would be wrong to abandon the party altogether. He found Tristan there, with a group of his friends. He fumbled with the paper, meaning to put it safely away, but Tristan snatched it from his hands.  
  
"I see. Well, don't withhold, William."  
  
"Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished."  
  
Tristan must be drunk. William could see that now. "Don't be shy." Tristan read to his friends from Will's naked, unfinished page. "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent."  
  
And now, his lover laughed at him outright. "Effulgent?"  
  
William could feel the hot blood rushing to his head as he turned away from Tristan and his friends. As he left the room, Tristan's final comment echoed in his mind: "I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff."  
  
The strange girl's mouth was no longer soft and vague as it had been. At his throat now, her mouth was wild and hungry. He felt her teeth as - forward girl! - she nipped at his neck. But it was more than a love-bite. The skin of his neck resisted for a moment, and then he felt her teeth pierce cleanly through the surface of his skin. It was strange, he thought, that his body did not resist.  
  
Then the sweet opiate swoon came over him.  
  
***  
  
William steeled himself. If he couldn't be with Tristan, he might as well do the needful for Mother's sake.  
  
Still, Cecily surprised him when she said, "Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they?"  
  
"They're about how I feel."  
  
"Yes, but are they about me?"  
  
He barely managed to choke out the lie. "Every syllable."  
  
***  
  
Later, he would remember almost nothing of what happened after the party. There was the mad girl in the alley, of course, saying all those mad things. The sudden, sharp, sweet, piercing pain of it. The onrushing darkness that flooded his mind and nearly made him faint, and his rage to hold on to this sensation for as long as he could.  
  
Screaming. Of course. Screaming rhymes with gleaming.  
  
And then there was the glorious feeling of the life draining out of him. 


End file.
